


01:01:28

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: It's not every day that the time on the clock matches the time on Michael's inner wrist, and it's definitely not every day that he meets his soulmate and has no clue who they are.And, of course, the only person he winds up befriending has no soulmark at all.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Michael Jones, background Ryan Haywood/Jeremy Dooley/Alfredo Diaz
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	01:01:28

The thing about soulmarks is, you see, the fact that they are either incredibly specific or incredibly _non_ specific, depending on how fortunate you were. Sometimes they were just middlingly specific, if you were middlingly fortunate. 

Michael had always hoped his would be specific, or maybe just middling. Maybe he'd be able to tell who he greeted in the exact second marked on his wrist.

But at February 14 at 1:01 a.m. and 28 seconds, he was in a crowd on top of Mt. Chiliad. Not even a quiet one. He had spoken to about twenty new people in the past five minutes alone, and he wouldn't be able to pick them out of a line-up.

Which he might have to, if there were any problems.

But aside from potential LSPD interference, and Michael's personal problem, the Break Legs Not Hearts challenge, hosted by none other than the FAHC, is all good to go. And with the path marked, and bikes pulled up to the starting line, Jack steps up onto the viewing platform and taps a mic a few times. The crowd settles down, and Jack starts his usual speech, starting off with a round of applause for all the bikers gathered here today.

While he details which two hospitals this race is funding - the childrens' one down in the main city and the disgustingly underfunded one plopped in the middle of Blaine County - Michael shimmies along to talk to Ryan, who's counting bets at a little folding table.

"How's it looking, Ryan?" He asks, watching Ryan deftly flip the moneybag open to place in another counted bet.

"Better than last year," Ryan says, a note of pleasant surprise in his voice. He glances up at Michael and marks down another note in his betting book. "Any trouble yet?"

"Nah. Dude, Turnbull's even racing this year."

Ryan's eyebrows raise. "I assume the chief doesn't know."

Michael laughs. "He's even using an LSPD bike. Think he's managed to convince everyone it's stolen. Murietta's just watching, though."

Officers Turnbull and Murietta were usual spectators in the annual challenge - personally invited by Geoff and Jack as an extension of goodwill to the LSPD. When the FAHC first started this challenge, five years ago, the LSPD begrudgingly didn't stop them, but they sure didn't like it. The FAHC helped prove themselves shortly after that first race, though, when subpoenaed hospital ledgers showed huge anonymous donations not two months later.

Ever since then, the LSPD has averted its gaze from Chiliad every Valentine's Day, and three years into the tradition, Geoff and Jack got the idea to invite a couple officers to the event, as both backup and an offer to see for themselves that the FAHC were true to their word. And since the FAHC explicitly banned any criminal activity at the race - well, apart from the race itself - a silent agreement was formed between the officers and the crew. The officers wouldn't arrest anyone on that night unless they broke the crew's rules, and the crew would keep the officers safe if anyone ever found out they were cops and decided they didn't like it.

Personally, Michael finds it funny how quickly the two warmed up to the race. And with a police vehicle, no less.

"So why are you back here?" Ryan asks, clicking the moneybag shut to stow it away. "Shouldn't you be hyping up Jeremy or something?"

Michael glances up to the stage.

"Yeah, I'll - I'll catch him in a minute," he says offhandedly. He's not sure why he came to Ryan to speak. Not sure if he wants to say anything, but it feels weird keeping his soulmark issues secret.

"You wanna go together?" Ryan asks, but doesn't move. "Michael, what's up?"

In reply, Michael pushes up the cuff of his jacket and shows Ryan his wrist. Ryan makes a soft _oh_ noise. 

"I have no clue who it is," Michael says. "Could be anyone in this crowd."

"And we don't keep records," Ryan agrees. "But wouldn't they also have the same time? Maybe they're looking for you?"

Michael shrugs. "I haven't seen anyone looking around for anything."

"Well, we can try to narrow it down. At the finish line, we can try and look at people's times if we can."

Michael nods. He knows it's only a consolation tactic, though. The chances of finding his soulmate again, in _this_ crowd, are slim. Maybe if he liked just ladies, this would be easier - there's significantly less of them here, but liking men as well just destroys his chances of finding them. 

"Let's go see Jeremy," Michael says, as Jack wraps up on stage.

\-- 

After the speech and a few more minutes of chatter, the bikers are all gearing up. Michael and Ryan find Jeremy strapping on a helmet with tacky purple flames on it.

"Hey, guys!" Jeremy says, spreading his arms wide to greet them. Michael meets him for the hand slap, grinning as Jeremy tugs him in for a one-armed hug.

"Where are you starting?" Michael asks as Jeremy flips up the collar of Ryan's jacket to annoy him.

"Way back," Jeremy says. " _Waaaaay_ back. I'm in forty-eighth." 

"That's gotta hurt," a new voice says.

"Oh fuck you, Alfredo," Jeremy replies, turning around to face him. "Where are you, then?"

"Forty-seventh." Alfredo says with a grin, laughing as Jeremy sputters.

"Fantastic," Ryan says dryly. "We're going to lose our own race."

"We always do, Ryan."

"Hey, I came second last year."

"Alfredo, I hate you."

A loud whistle blows across the mountain - the signal to line up.

"Everyone in their places!" Geoff shouts through a megaphone, and the busy shuffling around them turns into a mad scramble.

"Okay, we'll see you later!" Michael calls as he and Ryan back away.

"Just hope you don't clean me up!" Alfredo replies, laughing.

Suddenly, Ryan tugs Michael to the side - Michael's head whips around and he hurriedly follows Ryan's lead to sidestep the huge black bike he was about to walk straight into. It's sleek, with purple strip lighting tucked into the body and around the wheels.

"That's an ugly fucking bike," Michael says, stepping out to stand on the edge of the line-up. They're near the starting line - this bike is fourth place, so the driver must be new to the challenge.

"But it's on a good model," Ryan says, sounding just a little pained. Michael squints to see the silver letters above the rear wheel, and he just about make them out in the low light.

"G...F," he says. Shrugs. "Must be a name."

Just then, the rider comes through and mounts it, and he looks completely fucking _normal_ compared to the bike. He's dressed in a black racing suit, zipped up all the way to his throat, and the most sensible, plain black helmet possible. 

"Start your engines!" Geoff shouts. A roar rises from the line-up - Michael notices that the ugly bike has a smooth, low rumble, and hates himself for liking it. Ryan laughs next to him.

"3!"

"Who do you think's going to win?" Ryan asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Turnbull. Put all my money on him," Michael jokes, stepping a bit further back from the bikes. The purple glow lights an eerie circle around the ugly bike.

"2!"

"I wish I'd bet on this bike just to piss you off," Ryan says, nodding towards the bike.

"Asshole."

As if he hears them, the the rider swings his head towards them, almost considering, and then -

"1!"

The rider presses two buttons - one on the collar of his suit and one on his helmet - and the _entire_ suit and helmet light up with the same purple strip lighting as the bike, like a Tron character, but from the bad Tron. 

"Go!"

"Oh fuck o -" Michael starts, but is drowned out by the roar of fifty engines.

\-- 

Twenty minutes into the race, Michael hauls himself onto a broad, steady bike and adjusts the heavy spotlight clamped onto the handlebars. Ryan does the same a little ways over, pulling on some gloves as he settles onto the seat. They're the clean-up crew this year, following the race path nice and slowly to find anybody if they got hurt or spun out or just had to stop for some reason. Michael knows Geoff and Jack have a helicopter on standby if they need an airlift.

"I owe you two one," Jack says as he walks up to them. They both laugh - Jack says this every year and no one ever takes him up on it.

"How much did we raise?" Ryan asks instead, casting a glance to Jack.

"Seven hundred and fifty thousand," Jack says triumphantly.

"Holy shit." Michael raises his hand in a high five. "That's two hundred _thousand_ more than last year." 

"Hell yeah it is!" Jack high-fives him. "I think the, uh... _new additions_ helped." 

Michael rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, Geoff's not around, you can say Apex."

"You better not be talking about fuckin' Apex!" Geoff yells through the megaphone, far too close. They all wince, and Geoff grins as he approaches them.

"Apex!" Michael shouts, and kicks his engine into gear, peeling away while he flips Geoff off.

Geoff's loud laughter follows him into the brush-lined path.

A couple minutes later, Ryan pulls up beside Michael, at their usual snails-crawl pace.

"See anyone yet?" Michael asks, scanning the bushes to his right.

"Nope. Good sign so far."

Michael sucks in a huge breath and shouts, "Hey! Anyone need help?"

Ryan shouts from his side as well. Only the birds reply.

They ride together comfortably, calling out every so often and pausing to check every scrap of debris they find - a taillight here, a mirror there - to make sure there's no one attached to it. They've never had an accident worse than a broken bone, but it doesn't hurt to check.

"Call out if you need help!" Ryan shouts, and someone responds.

"Hey! I need help!"

"We're coming!" Michael replies as they both slow to a halt. He grabs a torch as he dismounts, and Ryan grabs his extensive first aid kit.

The beam of light swings around the bushes and scrub as they push through the initial barrier of dry shrubs, looking for the source of the voice.

"Keep talking!" Ryan calls.

"Over here!" The voice says, close and to their right.

They find a rider and his trashed bike lying in a little circle of clear dirt. He's clutching his leg, and smiles up at them as they approach.

"What's your name?" Michael asks.

"Rob."

"What happened?" Ryan asks, kneeling by the rider to check out his leg.

"Ah, got caught on a root and went spinnin'," Rob says, stretching out his injured leg. "Nothin' worse than a twisted ankle, but I didn't much wanna walk all the way up again. Sorry if I took up your time."

"No, you did exactly what you're supposed to," Michael says. He wanders over to survey the motorbike. It's not totally trashed, but definitely not usable.

"We encourage people to stay where they are," Ryan adds as he pokes and prods at Rob's ankle. "Makes it easier to find them. And this is just a sprain - I can wrap it and give you a cold pack. Any other injuries?"

"Just a few scrapes, but I'll be fine. Thanks."

While Ryan wraps Rob's ankle and cracks open a quick-cool pack, Michael texts Geoff.

"We can't help move you right now," Michael says. "But Geoff'll be by in a bit with a truck to get you and your bike. You okay waiting out here on your own or do you want us to wait?"

"Go on, I can wait," Rob says, shooing them off.

"Turn on the bike headlight if you can," Ryan says as he packs up. "Or any light on it. Make it easier to find you again."

"Thanks a lot, you two," Rob calls as they stomp back through the brush to their bikes.

"No problem!" They reply in unison.

Their trawl eventually brings them to Breakneck Buck - the informal name for the first hairpin turn. There's never been a broken neck but always a few injuries scattered about. This time, though, they ride right into an argument.

"You ran me off!"

"I did not!"

"If it weren't for you, I'd still be in this damn race!"

"It's not my fault you spun off - "

Michael and Ryan sigh and dismount.

"Hey, hey, guys," Ryan says, holding up his hands. "Maybe I can help you work this out."

While he diffuses the argument, Michael checks in on the other littered riders and bikes. A couple sprains, a dislocated shoulder, a broken arm, a broken foot. Someone points out an unconscious rider across the path, and Michael quickly dials Jack for an airlift as he hurriedly checks vitals. All good, probably just a hard landing, but Michael doesn't want to chance it. He finds someone to stay with the unconscious rider while Ryan goes around and treats minor injuries, and takes the names of who needs a hospital trip - Michael passes it on to Jack via text, and he and Ryan set off once again.

\-- 

"So, I've been checking," Ryan says casually, about halfway down the second downhill straight. "And I haven't seen your time yet."

Michael doesn't answer. He's been glancing too, when he can, but he doesn't want to admit it.

"Which narrows down a few of these guys," Ryan continues.

"There's too many," Michael says.

"There's about forty left," Ryan agrees. He cocks his head. "Actually, thirty-eight. You know it's not Jeremy or Alfredo."

"Still too many."

Silence reigns for a long moment. They call out to the bushes. Silence still.

"They're probably wondering who theirs is," Ryan says eventually.

"Maybe," Michael allows.

"Maybe...it's...someone with a different time," Ryan tries. Michael gives him a look.

"Okay, maybe not," Ryan says. Differing timestamps are insanely rare, and while Michael hates his situation pretty fucking thoroughly already, he doesn't think he's _that_ unfortunate yet. 

"Maybe I'll just meet them anyway," Michael says, trying for levity. Before Ryan can respond, Michael spots a hunk of black sticking out the bushes to his right.

"Stop," he says, jerking his head to the bike.

They dismount yet again, torch and medkit in hand.

As they come closer, Michael sees a very faint, flickering purple glow floating up from parts of the bike, fading with each pulse.

"For fuck's sake," he mutters. Ryan laughs beside him.

"Well, at least it'll be easy to find him," Ryan says. Michael makes a begrudging noise of agreement.

The problem is, when they get to the bike, they discover that it's only _half_ of a bike. The front half is nowhere to be found. 

"Oh no," Ryan murmurs.

"Hey! Anyone there!" Michael yells, pushing through shrubs to try and find the other half of the bike. He looks back at the back half. The end - which would be the middle of the whole bike - of it is wrenched, twisted metal, torn roughly from its other half. There's oil leaking out into the dirt, and -

"Footprints," Michael points out. Ryan nods.

The footprints unhelpfully fade away a few steps in. Michael swears. Ryan calls out again.

"Here!" Someone replies. With a direction, Michael and Ryan scurry to follow the noise, Marco Polo'ing back and forth until they push past a shrivelled tree branch and find the rider.

And the other half of the bike.

"Jesus," Ryan says.

"Hey," the rider says, giving them a little wave. He's standing up. He's standing up and apparently _not injured at all_. His stupid Tron suit is still lit up, although the bike's front half of lighting has long broken. The handlebars are twisted, mirrors shattered, and the end of the middle is the same twisted, fucked-up metal as the back half. 

And the rider's alive. Somehow. Michael almost hates him for it.

"What's your name?" Ryan asks, professional despite the surprise.

"Gavin. Don't suppose you know a mechanic that can fix this?" He indicates the bike.

"What the _fuck_ happened?" Michael asks. 

"Just a little hiccup," Gavin says calmly. Michael's panic turns into frustration.

"Are you - injured?" Ryan asks, holding up the medkit.

"Nah, I'm fine." He knocks his helmet. "Lots of padding."

"Okay but how the fuck are you alive?" Michael asks. Gavin shrugs, a bulky move in his suit.

"Got hit and bailed and then found my bike," he says. "Well, the bum half of it anyway. Went looking for the front. But seeing as it's bollocked, can you give me a ride down to the finish line?"

Michael sputters. He has about a million more questions (like who the _fuck_ brings a glider to a bike race, how the fuck is he alive, how did he have the instincts, and _how the fuck is he alive_?!). 

"At least take off your helmet and let me check for concussion," Ryan says calmly, moving closer to Gavin.

"Sure," Gavin agrees, reaching up to tug his helmet off.

Unfortunately for Michael's indignant anger (how the fuck is he unscathed! how!), Gavin's handsome. And smiley. And fucking Mr. Sunny if his cheerful conversation is anything to go by what kind of man survives an accident from hell and blithely asks for a mechanic what kind of fucking -

"You're all good," Ryan says, stowing his first aid stuff. He looks back at Michael and shrugs. "We _are_ close to the end," he says. 

"Fine, he can ride with me," Michael says.

"He's cheerful, innhe?" Gavin asks Ryan.

"Ray of fucking sunshine, I am," Michael grumbles to himself.

\-- 

They cruise to the finish line with no other injuries. Gavin's helmet knocks against the torch hook to Michael's bike and his hands are comfortable vice grips on Michael's hips and Michael hates every single teasing look from Ryan.

Jeremy greets them at the line.

"Who won?" Michael asks after he parks, Gavin dismounting with him.

"Turnbull," Jeremy says, nods at their shocked faces. "Yeah dude, he's insanely good."

"That's him fucked for undercover," Ryan says.

"Guess he souped up that bike," Michael adds. He unzips his jacket a bit, relishing the cool breeze.

"Who's this?" Jeremy asks, nodding to Gavin. He holds out a hand to shake and after a moment of consideration, Gavin takes it.

"A straggler we picked up," Michael replies. Went out on the last straight."

"Ooh, that's rough, buddy," Jeremy sympathises.

"It's all right," Gavin says, grinning. "At least I made it."

"If Geoff's towing your bike, you'll have to pick it up tomorrow - " Jeremy starts, but Michael, Ryan, and Gavin cut him off at the same time.

"Bike's in half."

"Ah," Jeremy says. "Well then...sorry?"

Gavin laughs, an unexpected response. "Don't worry, I can get another one."

"How about we go inside and actually celebrate with the guests," Ryan suggests, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, good idea," Michael says. "You guys go in, I'll just take off my jacket." He starts unzipping it as Ryan and Jeremy walk down the pavement, bundling it up to store it in his bike's compartment.

"Hey, can I ask you to keep my suit in there?" Gavin asks, fiddling with the zip at his throat. Michael blinks.

"Yeah, sure," he says. "Give it here."

Gavin unzips the suit to reveal perfectly normal clothes underneath, to Michael's surprise. He toes off his boots to take the suit off fully, and passes it to Michael.

"So does any of that light up?" Michael asks, gesturing to Gavin's clothes. Gavin laughs where he's crouched to do up his shoes.

"No promises," he jokes, and Michael, despite himself, chuckles. He crams Gavin's suit in next to his jacket and locks the compartment.

"You'll have to find me when you want it back later," he says as Gavin stands up. He's in a T-shirt and jeans, and Michael's eyes drift to Gavin's wrist when he reaches up to fix the cuff on his sleeve.

No time on it. Michael deflates.

"I'm sure I can," Gavin says. "You're part of the FAHC, right? I passed you earlier."

"Yeah," Michael replies, pulling away from the bike to lead Gavin to the nightclub they rent out for celebrations. Passed? Would that be enough for...? But Gavin doesn't have a soulmark.

"You're new," he blurts out instead of thinking his circling-drain thoughts. "You started fourth."

"New to town, not the job," Gavin agrees. "Or the racing."

"Really? Looked like it to me. How the fuck did you survive your bike getting torn in half?"

Gavin laughs. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," Michael says, stopping in front of the club door. Gavin looks at him with amusement.

"I always keep a glider backpack on," he says. "The hit tossed me high enough that I bailed and drifted to safety before my bike got messed up."

Michael blinks. Gavin pushes the door open to invite Michael in.

"A _glider_?!" 

Gavin just grins.

\-- 

A few days after the race, when Michael's clearing out the clean-up bike, he finds a racing suit in his storage compartment, right beside his jacket.

"Aw, fuck," he mutters, pulling out the suit. Gavin must have taken his helmet home, but he didn't get Michael to retrieve the suit.

Michael wonders if he forgot. But as he's shaking out the suit, a slip of paper drifts to the floor. He bends down to pick it up and read it.

_Call me?_

And a number. Michael laughs through his nose. Gavin didn't forget about the suit.

And, again despite himself, Michael takes out his phone and types in Gavin's number.

_> I've got your fugly suit, where do you want it _

The reply is almost instant. An address.

\-- 

The address is in walking distance, and leads Michael to - a motorbike dealer? But sure as shit, Gavin's on the pavement, waving at him.

"Hey, thanks, Michael," he says when Michael hands him the suit. "Thought you'd never text."

"I only found it today," Michael admits, and Gavin's smile grows somehow wider.

"So why are we here, anyway?" Michael asks, tamping down the oddly fluttery feeling in his chest to glance at the dealer lot.

"Well, I need a new bike, don't I?" Gavin tucks his suit against his side and turns to walk onto the lot. "Thought you could help me choose."

"I...guess so. But no putting those ugly fucking lights on it."

Gavin laughs, bright and carefree, and Michael follows him to the dealer.

It doesn't take long, once they find the fast bikes - Gavin points out an ugly design, Michael threatens to kill him and points to a less ugly design, Gavin pulls a face, the cycle repeats. Michael makes a quick trip to the bathroom and when he returns Gavin's shaking hands with a saleswoman, a ditsy little Faggio behind them in the most blistering shade of purple Michael's ever seen.

Michael's angry on principle, but he doesn't mean it.

"I thought I'd name it Michael," Gavin says when Michael catches up, patting the fat leather seat.

"You are not naming that thing after me," Michael warns. "I thought we were here for a _real_ bike." 

"It's a real bike!"

"It's a Faggio."

"Yeah, but it's _real_ , innit? You can touch it." 

"I hate you," Michael sighs.

"No you don't," Gavin says, a hint of doubt in his smile.

"Getting there, though." Michael grins and Gavin's shoulders fall the slightest bit in relief.

"So, wanna get lunch?" He asks. "I'll return the favour," he adds, gesturing to the bike.

"Last time I saw you with a bike, it was ripped in half."

"So?"

A laugh sputters out of Michael, unbidden, and he spreads his arms with a shrug.

"Fuck it, why not?"

\-- 

Lunch turns into more texts, which turns into more invitations, which eventually turns into the crew noticing that Michael's spent a lot more time alone lately - or maybe not so alone.

"So...who is she?" Jeremy asks, sliding onto a stool beside Michael. They're all at Geoff's penthouse for the usual Sunday dinner and drinks.

"He's no one," Michael replies, running the mouth of his bottle over his lips. "Just a friend."

"Suspicious," Ryan comments, cracking open a can behind them. "Does he own a light-up suit, by any chance?"

"Shut up, Ryan." Michael flips him off over his shoulder. Jeremy looks baffled but doesn't ask.

"When're you gonna bring him over for dinner?" Ryan teases. Michael looks out of floor-to-ceiling windows to watch Geoff barbecuing on the wide balcony. Beside him, Jack and Alfredo are setting up the buffet table.

"Never," Michael answers eventually. Jeremy playfully bumps him with his shoulder.

"Is he, y'know," Jeremy asks, smiling a little. Michael knows what he's asking.

"No," he says, subconsciously turning his wrist down. "I missed the time."

"You - what?"

Ryan silently moves up to Jeremy's other side.

"It was during the Break Legs race," Michael continues, a little despondent. "I was in the crowd when the time went."

"Oh," Jeremy says. "But this guy?"

"I met him after the race. He doesn't have a soulmark, though."

After a moment of comfortable silence, Jeremy nudges him again.

"I'm sorry, dude," he says. Ryan nods his agreement.

"Thanks, guys." Michael glances outside again - Geoff spots him and frantically waves them over. They wave back, sliding off of their stools to head out to the balcony.

"Hey, Michael," Ryan says, catching his arm just before they cross the threshold of the balcony. Jeremy continues outside, unaware that they stopped.

"It'll work out with Gavin," Ryan continues, soft so the crew don't hear them. "It doesn't matter that he's not your soulmate."

"...thanks," Michael says, meeting Ryan's eyes so he knows he's sincere. Ryan squeezes his arm.

"Guys! Get out here!" Alfredo calls from the table.

"Coming," Ryan replies, and drops his hand to follow Michael out to the balcony.

\-- 

"Hey boi," Gavin says, scooting over on his perch on the low beach wall.

"What's up?" Michael takes the proffered beer as he sits down beside him.

"Not much." Police sirens whoop slowly on the road behind them and Gavin suddenly ducks his head, leaning in towards Michael.

The car crawls away while Michael stifles laughter, letting it burst out once Gavin's free and clear.

"What did you _do_?" He asks, cracking open his bottle on the wall. Foam spills over his knuckles and drips to the sand below. 

"Nothing," Gavin says haughtily. Michael raises an eyebrow.

"Nothing they can _prove_ ," Gavin corrects, a smile cutting into his cheek. "Not important. How are you?" 

Michael shakes his head and shrugs. "Fine, I guess."

"Are the police also after you?"

Michael self-consciously tugs his jacket tighter, covering the singe marks on his shirt. His newfound bundle of money weighs heavy in his pocket.

"No."

"Michael! What did _you_ do?!" 

"I'm innocent," Michael lies.

"So we should get moving so you don't get recognised?"

"Yeah maybe," Michael admits, hurriedly standing up. "Wanna go to the pier?"

"Sounds like a plan, boi."

\-- 

The trip to the pier turns into a whole evening on the pier, complete with rollercoasters and little stuffed animals won on rigged arcade games. Michael has a little green plush turtle tucked into his jacket pocket, and Gavin's carrying an embarrassing balloon hat that Michael insisted he wear.

"Ey, do the sweethearts want a picture together!"

Michael and Gavin both turn around from the sunset at the same time, half a hot dog in Michael's mouth and a startled look in Gavin's eyes -

the flash makes Michael dizzy with how fast it all happens, and suddenly the rip-off photographer is printing out a Polaroid and asking if they want it, it's a good price, only five bucks, have a memory, sweethearts, only five bucks - and Michael hands him a crumpled five just to get him to shut up.

"Thank you kindly, sirs," the man says and tips an invisible hat at them before wandering off to find his next prey.

"Well, then," Gavin says, looking at the photo he was handed. "It's not that bad."

Neither of them mention being called _sweethearts_. 

"I'll frame it for you," Michael jokes. It's a terrible photo in terms of the shocked expressions they're both wearing - and the hot dog bulging out Michael's cheek - but it's in-focus, and Michael supposes it's probably a decent candid photo, even with Gavin's surprise plastered all over his face as his hot dog falls out of his hands -

Wait. Michael glances down at the wooden pier, and back up to Gavin.

"I dropped my dog," he says. They both burst into laughter, Gavin pocketing the photo while Michael bends down to pick up as much of the ruined hot dog he can and put it into a bin.

"I'll get you a new one," he says, wiping ketchup on his hands.

\-- 

Another hot dog and a few games later, they're lounging at a cheap plastic table in a seating area tucked into a corner of the pier, a rest stop from all the flashing lights and rides. The big Ferris wheel rises above the crowd in slow, steady rotations, stopping every so often to let riders enjoy the view.

It's a good view, Michael admits. The neon pier lights rippling on the gentle water, the distant sounds of boats zipping about in the water, the general cheer and laughter only briefly interrupted by red-white-and-blue racing down the roads behind them.

"You met them yet?" Gavin asks in a lull in conversation, gesturing to Michael's exposed wrist.

"Huh? Oh, that." Michael looks down at his soulmark, its lustre faded now, a month and a half later. "I haven't met them."

Gavin frowns. "I thought you were supposed to. Like, isn't it unmissable?"

Michael glances at him quizzically. Then he realises why Gavin doesn't understand the game of chance a soulmark is.

"You don't have one," he blurts out. Gavin shrugs.

"Born without it," he replies.

Michael feels almost compelled to ask the next question.

"Is it...I dunno, does it like, change anything?"

Gavin shrugs again, genuine, uncaring. "Nah, not really. Soulmate's just a bunch of malarkey anyway, innit?" He jerks his chin to Michael's wrist. "I mean, you don't know yours."

"And I probably never will." Michael tries not to let the odd sadness touch his voice, but Gavin doesn't reply anyway.

It's not that Michael was really _hooked_ onto the soulmate thing, but...it did always seem like a nice promise, a maybe-guarantee that he would meet someone perfect for him. He's never been the type to hold onto hope for too long, not like the 'single-until-soulmate' crowd out there somewhere. 

And he does _like_ Gavin. 

(And there's a quiet part of him that hopes, maybe, Gavin was in that crowd on February 14 at 1:01 a.m. and 28 seconds, and maybe Michael has met his soulmate after all.)

Michael tamps that hope down.

"Soulmates sound like a lot of trouble anyway," Gavin says.

"You don't want one?" Michael asks, smiling to cover his nerves.

"Nah," Gavin replies. "I'm sort of glad I don't have one now."

A salty wind brings over the smell of greasy fries and the sound of screaming teenagers, and seems to break whatever weird honest moment they were in.

"Anyway," Gavin says, a smile crinkling the corners of his mouth. "You wanna go back in? Your choice."

Michael can tell Gavin's trying to cheer him up. And like with most things pertaining to Gavin, it works.

\-- 

"Hey guys, you wanna see the race video?"

It's another Sunday night dinner at Geoff's - Jeremy's turn to cook, though - and they're scattered around the exceedingly comfy living room, stretched out on the two massive L sofas and a couple beanbags. Michael has not, to Ryan's disappointment, yet invited Gavin to meet...well, _any_ of the crew. 

First of all, there's the inevitable teasing Michael would get.

"Geoff! I thought you did that ages ago!" Jeremy calls.

"I thought you just forgot to show us," Alfredo says, shrugging with his ice cream.

"I forgot about it," Geoff replies with a toothy grin - and a fond head shake from Jack - and brings over a USB to stick into his TV.

"You for _got_?" Ryan asks, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, well," Geoff dithers. "Left it on the side and forgot. Do you wanna see it or not?"

"Yes!" From everyone.

"Okay, good," Geoff says, plugging the USB in. "Now, I haven't edited it yet - "

Second, there's the fact that Michael knows practically nothing about what Gavin actually _does_. He knows Gavin's a criminal of some sort, probably petty since he's never heard of him, never seen any likeness drawings on the news, but still substantially _something_. The guy walks around with gold sunglasses, he's got to have access to some kind of money. 

\- "haven't _edited_?!" Jeremy exclaims. 

"- so you'll have to just deal with the long intro," Geoff finishes. "Anybody got a problem with that?"

"Not majorly." Ryan.

"My ice cream's melting." Alfredo.

"Good. Then I can start it," Geoff says to no one, and presses play.

Thirdly, Michael doesn't really know how to invite Gavin over to meet his friends without asking him out first. Probably formally. Probably should make sure they're on the same page. All Michael knows is that if he brings the guy he likes over - _not_ a crush, he's not twelve - without actually factually dating him, then Geoff and Jack might just decide to play chaotic matchmaker. Michael doesn't think he could live it down. 

The video starts from the "wings" of stage left - really just one of the metal poles to hold up the lights - and looks onto the stage, where Jack is setting up speakers and checking cables. The camera playfully zooms in on Jack's face and back out, and Jack looks up to say something to the cameraman. It's hard to ignore the fond gaze of the camera on Jack while Geoff films the setup, occasionally swinging out to the chattering crowd and back again. He starts a brief mock-interview with Jack, a sliver of audience visible behind him.

"So Jack, what are we here for?"

"We're here for the thrills," Jack jokes, laughing nervously. "But mostly we're here to give back to the community."

This is when Michael notices the time in the bottom right. He tries to pick himself out in the crowd, tries to place where he would be - he was in the left half of the audience, maybe about a third of the way from the stage, making his way to the back. He remembers passing Jeremy, in his bright and bold purple and orange racing outfit.

"...have helped the citizens of Los Santos, and we'd like to help them in return," Jack continues. "That's why all these people are gathered here today."

"Also to race," Geoff adds.

"Also to race," Jack allows. "But they all donated to be here."

Michael's palms itch as the timer progresses. 01:00:00. 01:00:20. He can feel Ryan glancing at him.

The camera briefly, shakily swings out at the audience - there! Michael finds himself at 01:00:58, thirty seconds before his soulmark.

"Aw, c'mon, that was weak," Jack laughs on screen. "Can you even see anybody in that? Do that again."

"All right, all right," Geoff chuckles, and follows Jack's arm sweep slower this time, panning across the crowd.

At 01:01:27, Michael sees himself facing a man in a white helmet.

And 01:01:28, he turns to shake hands with a man in all black. An all black racing suit. With brown hair. Very familiar, windswept brown hair.

In the precious two seconds (01:01:29 and 01:01:30) that Geoff lingers on the audience, Michael tracks any and all detail he can of the man in black. He's slightly taller than Michael. He's not beefed up like Jeremy. The suit has sleek parts - he thinks, can't tell from this distance.

And at 01:01:31, when the man is five people away from Michael, he turns on purple lights on his suit to show off to Turnbull.

 _Shit_. 

\-- 

"You good?"

"Yeah."

"...y'know, you're a really bad liar," Ryan says, offering over his bag of peanuts.

"Yeah, I know," Michael answers, taking a handful and tipping them into his mouth.

On the road under their cliff, their stakeout target moans loudly. The lady with him makes an answering noise. The car rocks squeakily.

"Gavin's my soulmate," Michael says. Ryan _hmm_ s noncommittally and tosses a peanut up in the air to catch it in his mouth. He misses and it drops down to the dirt below. 

"The race video?" Ryan guesses, correctly. Michael nods.

"Have you told him?" Through a mouthful of peanuts.

"No."

"Will you?"

"Unsure, ask again later," Michael jokes, cracking a smile. Ryan huffs a laugh through his nose.

"I guess you guys knew when you'd met?" Michael asks, halfheartedly gesturing to the two times on Ryan's wrist. "For both of them?"

"Pretty much." Ryan pauses. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise for having soulmates," Michael laughs, rolling his eyes. "Damn, man."

Ryan smiles sheepishly. Below them, the car rocks faster. Michael almost can't believe they tailed a CEO all the way out here just to watch him get laid by his own wife. Again.

Well, at least they can tell Geoff the target's usually busy on Friday nights. Should be a good time to hit his vault.

"Y'know, it doesn't really matter if he knows or not," Ryan says, cocking his head. "If you want to date him. He doesn't have a soulmark, right?"

"He's got nothing," Michael agrees. "Dunno about not telling him though, that feels like...dunno. Feels weird."

"Yeah, I wouldn't recommend it, probably."

"Hm."

"Mm."

\-- 

There's a knock on Michael's door on a completely ordinary Saturday afternoon where he is doing absolutely nothing but nursing fading injuries in his flat and maybe playing a few video games. The crew is scattered to dispel any lingering police presence around the Union Bank from last night - a cool and CEO-empty Friday evening.

Michael frowns and checks the peephole before sliding the lock open.

"Hey!" Gavin says brightly, rocking on his toes. He's holding something behind his back.

"Hello?" Michael glances around the hallway. "How do you know my address?"

"I know a lot of things," Gavin replies breezily. "Hope the heist wasn't too bad. Can I come in?"

"I - " Michael, dumbfounded, just steps back and waves Gavin in, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"What...are you here for?" Michael asks. Gavin - Gavin looks _nervous_ , for once, glancing down to his feet and back up to Michael, his hands still firmly behind his back. 

"Well, I was going to ask you to dinner," he says, but his smoothness is betrayed by the flick of his gaze away from Michael and back. "But seeing as you can't go out today, I was wondering if maybe we could have dinner...here?"

"Here?" Michael repeats dumbly. Gavin gives a charming little smile and half-shrug, bringing his hands out from behind his back.

"I brought Halo for afterwards," he says. "If - If you want to, that is. I don't know if you play Halo but I we could have dinner and I can...stay?"

"Gavin - wait, what's your last name?" Michael crosses his arms.

"Free."

"Ironic."

Gavin cracks a smile.

"Gavin Free, are you asking me out? On a date?"

"Only if you say yes," Gavin jokes.

Michael wants to. He wants to so badly he can _taste_ it. 

But he thinks back to the pier - _soulmates sound like a lot of trouble anyway_... _I'm sort of glad I don't have one now_ \- and sighs. His conscience can't take it if he doesn't tell Gavin what he knows. 

Gavin's face falls with Michael's.

"Is something wrong?" He asks, lowering Halo to his side.

"Look, I - " Michael sucks in a breath, winces at his bruised ribs. "Sit down."

Gavin follows him quietly to the sofa, pure, distilled awkwardness permeating the air around them.

"I'd say yes," Michael starts, to at least alleviate _that_. He clears his throat to banish the colour in his cheeks. 

"But," he hurries, "I, uh, I found out...a couple weeks ago, that um." He almost can't say it, the words sticking in his throat like peanut butter. What if it turns Gavin off of him completely? What if Gavin's disillusionment with soulmates pushes him away from Michael? He has no gauge for how Gavin might react to this.

Gavin, to his credit, doesn't push him.

"That you're my...soulmate," Michael finishes quietly. The word falls like a bowling ball between them, with an impact as heavy, sending cracks skittering through -

Gavin laughs. Michael blinks at him.

"Gav?" He asks. Gavin just laughs more, rubbing his cheek with one hand.

"Michael, why were you worried about that?" Gavin asks, clumsily trying to suppress his laughter.

"I thought you didn't want a soulmate."

"I don't mind if it's _you_ , you knob. I already _like_ you. How did you find out?" 

"I - Geoff takes videos of the race challenge, I just...happened to see myself at the right time."

Gavin laughs again, but this time Michael can't resist joining him, relaxing into the sofa and into Gavin's side as his completely unnecessary stress leaks out of him in only slightly hysterical giggles.

When they're breathless and slumped together, Michael leans in to kiss him. Gavin makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat and quickly recovers to put a hand on Michael's neck.

"So is that a yes?" Gavin asks when they've pulled away, foreheads touching.

"I'm gonna beat your ass at Halo."

\-- 

The problem with actually, officially dating Gavin is that the moment Geoff even got a _hint_ of someone new in Michael's life, that someone was invited for the next round of Sunday dinner and drinks. 

"So it's going good, then?" Ryan asks from the stove - his turn to cook, and Michael's ducking out of the living room right now to catch a breather and find a drink.

"Us or out there?"

"Out there." Ryan puts a lid on his pot and turns around to face Michael. "Can you pass one? Thanks."

Michael slaps a soda into Ryan's hand and pops his own open, sighing at the refreshing cool down his throat.

"Awful," Michael says. "I _knew_ this was a bad idea." 

"I like him," Ryan replies with a grin.

"That's the problem," Michael warns, also smiling. "He gets on too well with you guys. Gonna start teaming up against me and shit. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Geoff invites him to the crew, he loves him so fucking much."

"Maybe you being happy wasn't worth it," Ryan chuckles.

"You'll regret it," Michael jokes.

\-- 

On May 14 at 1:01 a.m. and 28 seconds, exactly three months after Michael's soulmark, he's laying with Gavin in Gavin's bed, recovering from...not sleeping. They haven't been sleeping for a few hours.

Gavin's place is nice, actually. Michael likes it, which was a surprise to him. Seeing as how he hates Gavin's choice in bikes, and his gold shades that he apparently spent his first thousands on - instead of like, food or clothes or tech anything _useful_ \- and basically anything that Gavin designs. It's almost as if he's _trying_ to annoy Michael with his style choices. He's bought a bright purple soccer mom car since they got together. Michael hates _that_. 

But he _loves_...this. Just relaxing next to Gavin, feeling him shift on the bed beside him, lazily dragging a hand down his forearm, his chest. 

"Hey Michael." 

"Gavin." 

"You remember the race where we met?" 

"Yeah-huh. You glided off of a bike accident." 

"I never had a glider." 

Michael blinks up at the ceiling. 

Gavin suppresses a giggle beside him. 

"I just jumped off when I was hit," he continues, giggling madly. 

Michael sucks in a deep breath. 

"Oh, fuck o - " 


End file.
